The Russian Strut
by Hoffie13
Summary: Toris is a struggling fashion designer and Feliks is his model. They're trying to keep it that way, but it's becoming the biggest challenge of all with Ivan of Braginski Designs set on getting in the way. Modern AU. Ivan/Toris/Feliks.


_I really should not be writing this, because, oh my, I have so many other things, but here it is. This is a modern AU focused on the fashion world, that starts in France, so charas are not nations and human names will be used. The plot is loosely based on history, but it's so loose that I'm not going to make it too obvious. I also have a goal to include as many characters as possible, but the main pairing will be Ivan x Toris x Feliks (Russia x Lithuania x Poland), with a side of others as the story goes. Enjoy!_

* * *

The Russian Strut  
I. Commonwealth

* * *

The little blonde paused as he opened the door. Raising an eyebrow he peered at the red letter he found sitting on the ground, in between his feet. He leaned down, studying it in an offended way and when he realized it wasn't addressed to him he hefted up the bags that were weighing his hands down and simply kicked it through the door. It fluttered into the tiny, cluttered studio and he stepped on it as he followed inside.

The studio made him snarl. After leaving and coming back to it he could see the disaster with new eyes. The Murphy bed was pulled down and still being used as a closet and the kitchen was overflowing with fabrics and papers on every surface. The chilling breeze flowing through the windows stirred all of the clutter and brought pieces of it floating to the floor. What little seemed like finished garments hung on the wall in a sad, disappointing corner of completion. Near it was a work table where the unmovable statue known as Toris sat, fully focused on sewing a piece of clothing and making no notice to the other's entrance.

Feliks frowned at the sight.

He stepped over the many things in his path and set the bags before the worktable. He stopped in rising to peer over the top and observe Toris, pulling the needle through the cloth, in and out, in and out, in and out, in and out. Feliks grew dizzy and instead looked to the garment, to the real cause of his frown.

"Liet," he muttered, "I don't like the color."

Toris brought sleep deprived eyes to Feliks.

"Feliks," he said in one, long, breath, "you said that you wanted a cardigan to go with that Lacroix puffball skirt. It's blue…"

"Blue? God, Liet, I meant the black skirt with the, like, bustle in the back, from Gaultier."

"Black? Then, it'll match no matter…"

"Anyway." Feliks rose with a flourish and sighed, "Like, why are you worrying over a cardigan?"

Toris responded, "Because, you woke up with the need for one…"

"Because, it's winter!" Feliks smacked the table, "It's time for the best of fashion! It's time to showcase those miniskirts, leggings, tights, baby doll tops. Shape, Liet, that's what next summer is all about and I'm so excited and I think you totally should too, because I want to wear so many of them."

Toris groaned, "Don't tell me you went out and got sick of this year's winter wear already?"

"I'm sick of covering up."

"Already?"

"Already?"

"Today was the first day of winter!"

"One awful day of it too, though this button down fleece coat is so quite adorable on me, don't you agree?"

Feliks held his arms out and spun. Toris watched carefully and didn't answer. Instead, he reached out for the coat and grabbed the tag hanging from the sleeve.

"That's not one of mine…" he muttered.

Before he could read it Feliks turned out of the hold and went to busy himself with viewing the finished line on the wall. His greedy hands opened and closed as he closely observed them, looking more finished then when he had left, at least. Toris helplessly dropped his hand and studied the forgotten garment.

He held it out in front of him, "I guess I could use a new cardigan."

Feliks appeared in his face, "Like, yeah, you could."

Feliks observed his friend up close, tousled brown hair laying over his shoulders and strain marring all his features. The boy was usually a mess, to Feliks disgust, but had been starting to descend further into it lately and it annoyed him greatly. Toris tried to move his head farther away from the blonde whose flawless face was growing concerned.

"Wh-what?" he stuttered.

Feliks pulled back, "You were up before you started my cardigan."

"…maybe…"

"You're crazy."

Toris was caught off guard, "Wh-what do you…?"

"I can't believe you're seriously going to make me walk around tomorrow with you looking so, so… like that! What will the fashion world think of me? You think we're going to get anywhere selling such fabulous things while you yourself look like you seriously just escaped a war? You're, like, crazy if you do."

"Oh." Toris responded.

He watched while Feliks circled the table.

"It's, like, totally not a problem though."

Feliks disappeared from his view and reappeared lifting a large, paper bag onto the worktable.

"You should so be praising me, right now." Feliks gave him a cocky, lopsided smirk.

Another bag.

"Like, what would you do without me?"

Another.

Toris's shoulders drooped.

Another.

"Feliks!" he stood up, "What is all this?"

Feliks's head popped up and he said simply, "Just some well needed shopping."

"Shopping? You said you were going to church this morning!"

"I did." Feliks replied then pondered, "In between all of this… at some point, I think. That isn't the problem."

"Feliks, no, no." Toris hastily went to his side, "No, no."

Feliks stopped him from getting closer with a hand to his chest.

"Calm down, Liet!" He said while vigorously digging through a bag.

"Calm down? Wh-where did you get the money for all this?"

"It's perfect."

Feliks held up a long suited jacket in front of him and threw a short scarf around his neck to go along with it.

Feliks grin widened at what he saw, "See?"

All Toris was seeing was the price tag sticking in his face. He made to snatch it, but Feliks was faster in hiding the garment back into the bag. While Toris went to search inside another one, Feliks ducked under him.

"We'll be just fabulous!" he cooed.

Toris searched through price to price on everything he found, numbers swirled in his head as he counted off others on his fingers. He felt his strength giving out the worse they got.

"Fe-Feliks, I can't believe you… we…I…"

He turned to find where he had gone and when he did, to his horror, found him wearing a dress for the show.

Feliks grinned at him, "Can I walk in this one tomorrow, Liet?"

Toris twitched and fumbled over his tongue, "N-no, Feliks! I have you planned for men's wear tomorrow. I really, really need you to wear men's tomorrow. You have to anyway, it's a runway and-"

"Oh, Liet, imagine." Feliks leaped on to a chair.

Toris stammered up at him, "Imagine, what?"

Feliks took the stunned Toris's arm and tugged him up on to the worktable. He continued to steer him across the top of it, knocking everything over in their path, as Toris tried, in vain, to pull away. Feliks used that to send them twirling.

"Like, imagine us tomorrow! We're gonna be the talk of the day, everyone will love us, they'll bow down to our greatness. We'll be so great that afterwards we can even shove it all in that stalker, creepy, smiling, bastard, Ivan the Terrible's, face! It'll be so _awesome_!"

"Wait?" Toris gasped, "What?"

The door was flung open.

"Bonjour, monsieur!"

A streak of blue, blonde, and red made a dramatic entrance. At that Toris immediately planted his feet and sent Feliks swinging off his arms to go tumbling off the table with a short look of surprise and to the ground with a small plop.

"Mr. Bonnefoy!" Toris exclaimed, "Wh-what brings you here?"

"I see I arrived at a good time." Francis wiggled his eyebrows, "Having fun are we?"

"What?" Toris looked down at himself, "Oh."

He very carefully stepped onto a chair and eased himself down to get back on the floor. He side stepped Feliks, attempting to get back to his feet, and rushed while he straightened everything in his path on the way to Francis. He extended his hand to the man.

"Um, welcome to my studio."

Francis shook his hand, gracefully, "The pleasure is all mine, monsieur, it has been a pleasure having you sew for me, and your work has been absolutely impeccable. I've just come to make sure you're all ready and set for the show tomorrow, Mr. Lorinaitis."

Toris's lips tried for a smile.

"Erm, thank you, and, um, yes I…"

"Oh!" Francis's interrupted to squeal, "Who is this, lovely, little beauty?"

Toris hadn't notice Feliks latch on to his back. But, there he was peeking around his shoulder at the Frenchman with a bashful blush and a pointed stare. Toris stepped to the side to reveal him, but Feliks did the same and remained attached.

"Um, this is my model…"

"Oh! What a lovely mademoiselle!"

"Madem…"Toris repeated. "…oiselle?"

He really saw Feliks then, dress, bare legs, and all.

Toris gulped, "Um, y-yes, she is…"

"She wears my design, oh so perfectly! She will be walking tomorrow, oui?"

"Y-yes, of course he… she is…" he stuttered, "…of course _she_ is."

"Great!" Francis clapped, "Well, I already know you'll make me proud! I have more rounds to make, so I will see you, Mr. Lorinaitis, my work, and your lovely model showcasing it tomorrow! Au Revoir!"

He made sure that he ran a hand over Toris's hair and under Feliks's chin before he made his exit, just as flashy as his entrance had been. Toris stared blankly at the spot where he had left.

"Like, who was that total creep?"

Toris snapped around to Feliks, "That was Francis Bonnefoy! It's his show tomorrow!"

"Wow," Feliks scoffed, "what a complete freak…"

Toris glanced at Feliks, up and down.

"What now?" he said, desperate.

Feliks stuck out his lip and answered with, "I, like, really need to pee."

Toris blinked at the blonde. Feliks blinked back.

Slowly, Toris turned on his heel and shook his head as he walked forward to the door, planning to go clear his head with fresh air, but he was stopped from doing that when his foot stepped over something red. Toris cocked his head at it and slowly lifted his foot. He bent down and picked it up, realizing what it was made his hands shake.

Feliks hollered, "So, I'll just be in the bathroom!"

* * *

Toris's hands were still shaking the next morning.

"God, Liet, like, stop fussing with it!"

Toris finally managed to clasp the belt around a struggling Feliks, who was more eager to criticize every outfit that passed him by with a critical stare.

"Stop fussing?" Toris sputtered and stood back up to study his work, spitting out his mouth full of pins, "You want me to stop fussing?"

Feliks tore his eyes from a nearby gown and leaned into his face, put his hands on his sides, and immediately began to rant and rave about Toris's comment, but the only thing Toris could pay attention to was the very puffy, very short, and very frilly dress his friend was fashioned in, complete with boots and hairpieces, and the fact their bills depended on it all.

"…so, like, just stop worrying about it, Liet, you're the one that made it."

Toris was brought back to attention with that, "Feliks…"

"And since you're, like, the one who made it, of course, I'm the one who totally gets to wear it and there's nothing in the world I can't make look absolutely fabulous, even if it was, like, a sack or something, you know what I mean?"

Toris sighed heavily, "…Feliks."

"You worry so much." He grabbed his shoulders, "It's yours; it's fabulous."

"Well, you know," Toris fidgeted, "it's not really mine, just because I made it..."

Feliks observed him, Toris looked away. Feliks huffed.

"Well," he said "It's not like I'm rocking this for anyone else."

Toris smiled, "…thank you."

"Mr. Lorinaitis!"

Toris's head swung to the side, where Francis was rushing past.

"I have quite a crowd out there so excited for that design!" he shouted, "Be ready to head out!"

Toris laughed, nervously, "Ye…yeah! We…we will be!"

Francis left and Toris' shoulders fell.

"Oh, this is just great…"

"Liet, stop worrying so much!" Feliks scolded.

Toris turned, "Feliks, you're in a _dress_. Buyers will see_ you_ in my _employer's _dress."

"Don't get all crazy at me! I don't get, like, what your deal is anyway, but they're about to not see you at all if you don't get out there" Feliks shoved Toris along from behind," Sheesh, I really don't understand you sometimes, it's not like I've never worn a…never worn a…"

Feliks stopped. Toris twisted around and found Feliks tucking his head against the middle of his back and in between his own arms.

"Feliks?"

"I, um…" Feliks glanced up, blushing fiercely.

Toris's eyes widened, "Oh no, oh no, we don't have time for this."

He reached back and tugged the blonde out of hiding, gently shoving him forward instead.

"Liet!" Feliks cried.

"Come on, Feliks." Toris coaxed, "You really can't be a shy model anymore, where will that get you? What was all that before about 'fabulous' and 'rocking', and… um, all those other words you use, don't you still think you're all those things?"

"Like, duh."

They were coming up on a group of girl models organizing themselves in a line.

"Okay," Toris continued, "well, you need to get out there and show those people just that!"

One little push sent Feliks into the line.

"Liet." Feliks growled again, giving a furious glare that was only enhanced by his red cheeks.

Toris sighed and bent so that he was level with his model's eyes.

"Just keep your eyes on me then, okay?"

Feliks looked away, "Fine."

Toris stepped back and studied the whole group. To his absolute relief Feliks actually blended in, easily, with the rest of the females. He even upturned his nose at the girl's beside him.

Toris rolled his eyes and, with a brief comforting wave to Feliks, started to walk away through the chaos of the backstage. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame it again; to the way it had been when they had left for the show early that morning, but that seemed impossible. He ducked through the curtain leading to the audience and walked in between the white stage and the line of white chairs, still struggling to fix himself up his hand ran along the scarf around his neck. He held it there a moment, let out a short breath, and then straightened it.

"Hey, you."

Toris was forced to a stop, his eyes looked up.

Standing in his way was a group of five people. The one who had spoken had wild blonde hair and towered over him, he wore a big grin across his face. Toris frowned.

"Erm, can I help you…?" he responded.

"You're that freelancing, Lithuanian guy, aren't you?"

He answered slowly, "Yes."

His smile widened, "The name's…"

"Name's Berwald." interrupted another, taller, man, thrusting his hand out in front of the other.

Toris hesitantly took it.

"Nice to, um, meet you…" he said.

"And m'wife."

The smaller man he pointed out quickly held his hands up.

"No, no." he squeaked, "I'm…I'm Tino, Tino Väinämöinen."

Toris perked, "Oh, from Väinämöinen designs? I'm flattered."

"Yeah!" the first excitable man cut back in, "We're the famous Scandinavian fashion group! Tino's our designer."

Tino waved.

"Berwald sews."

Berwald was busy shooting the man a scary stare.

"These two are our acclaimed models."

The two standing behind him; that looked very similar, just stared at him blankly.

"And, I'm the proud Dane that owns them all!"

He was hit in the back of the head from the blonde model.

"Anyway," he continued, rubbing his head, "I want to branch out and include more international names under our brand. I've seen your work, kid, and think you'd be perfect!"

Toris blanched, "Oh, I really just make the…"

"Picture it!" he exclaimed, "We would let you design all for yourself! We'd even give you your own label, a bigger space, than I'm sure you have now, and everything you design and create will have your own name on it! From the work I've seen you do I know you'd be a great addition to our company."

Toris was shocked. It sounded great; it sounded like exactly like the chance they needed. With it they could escape from struggling one freelance job to the next. Feliks wouldn't need to complain about money or worry about the cabinets being bare ever again. It would be perfect.

"Wow, that…" he began, "That sounds…"

"Hello~"

Toris froze at that voice and at the gloved hand that landed on his shoulder.

The Dane looked up and stated sourly, "Ivan Braginski."

Ivan titled his head with innocent interest, "Were you talking to, Toris?"

"Yeah," he responded, "But, we're done."

With that they were quick to retreat. Toris watched as the Dane rounded up his little group and herded them away. Berwald muttered something to the other, Tino stood in between the two with a carefree smile, and the models both mouthed something off to one another. Toris found himself not wanting to turn, and he didn't have to because Ivan took care of that, steering him around and ushering him forward.

"What did they want, Toris?" he asked, curiously.

Ivan's violet eyes shined with a serious intent. Toris looked away.

"Oh, um, nothing…"

Ivan smiled, walking ahead, "That voice does not sound like Toris at all. Have you been well lately?"

"Very well," he tried to control his voice and smile sincerely, "thank you for asking."

"It is not good to lie."

"Oh, well…" Toris mumbled, eyes returning to the ground, "I…I guess I'm just having some money problems…"

Ivan gazed at him, full of concern.

"Nothing bad." Toris waved his arms frantically, "Really, it isn't."

"It sure doesn't sound as such."

"Well, it's just, um…"

"Yes?"

Ivan stopped and turned, just as the lights were lowered. The place darkened, and the stage became the only thing illuminated, a brightly white. Toris's eyes jumped around before he found Ivan's, looking even more sinister and intimidating while surrounded by the shadows.

Toris felt like he had shrunk, "Just that, um, I… received the check from my last job… erm, it's not anything to trouble you with really, but… um, it just seems like I didn't receive as much as… expected."

"Well, that shouldn't be right. Toris does full check worthy work after all, da."

Toris blushed, "Erm, yeah, well I…"

Ivan grinned, "Well, if you are being mistreated, you know I'm always open to giving a worker like you a full time position if you wish to escape these little freelance works. I'm also willing to help with any problem you might be going through, any troubles at all, that's what friends are for, right?"

"Yeah," Toris grinned, "I'll-I'll have to remember that, thank you."

The music started up then. A childish excitement lit Ivan's face as he led Toris to two empty seats in the front row and at the end of the stage. Toris said swift greeting to two close friends seated there as well. The youngest eyed Ivan before giving Toris a happy greeting, the other pushed his glasses up higher and pointed to the stage before giving him a thumbs up. Toris let out a long breath, he almost forgot about the show…

Ivan whispered in his ear, "Did Francis find the dress a good model?"

Toris gritted his teeth.

"...yes."

When it was Feliks turn to walk, Toris knew it before he showed up, he felt like he was going to faint. But, when Feliks did appear, it wasn't long for that feeling to leave. Feliks stomped out into his first pose with only a small blush remaining and he immediately found Toris' eyes. Toris was captured in that fierce gaze the entire time the blonde stepped perfectly down the runway. Once he reached the end he did his pose that ended with a genuine smile and with a flip of his hair Feliks's turned to walk back.

Without that stare holding him anymore it took a little for Toris to notice his surroundings again and once he did, he could hear all the clapping. He smiled.

"Toris?" Ivan whispered, "That wasn't your friend Feliks, was it?"

The smile left.

"N-no…"

"Hm," Ivan hummed, "Interesting."

At Feliks's last pose he turned and planted his feet, meeting Toris's eyes again. They shared a long stare before Feliks swung the dress to the side and exited. Toris felt his nerves return.

TBC. Reviews make meh happy! :3


End file.
